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Deathwhisker is like an introspective walk home under a cold sunset. Quiet, sharp, with fleeting warmth. The soft tumble of brushes, subdued guitars, and the tuneful vocals of Anna Padgett and Cynthia Nelson flicker like firelight — their music sounds low-key and sweet-tempered, but a bitter wryness and downhearted tone underlies the songs. Their lyrical sharpness and brevity see to this. Lines such as "Hi, my fine young fuckable" and "Mistake on the bottom/ Mistake on top/ I'm taking this one back to the big mistake shop" hint at the brazen and worn-out, rather than the wide-eyed and cheerful. Causing disappointment and straight-faced defiance are two other lyrical themes. While in "Plans," The Naysayer call themselves a sham, in "Currency" they absolve themselves of blame — "My mother raised me wrong/ What can I say?" they sing, as the guitarwork skirts along with this catchcry of bravado. The meandering nature of the delivery (for instance, "I can see right in/ Don't eat that/ I heard that/ I can taste it too/ Don't look over here/ I'm not this weird," in "Subway Lullaby") can also have an unaffected charm. With 17 songs, Deathwhisker is burdened by monotony near its end, but the folky flirts and lyrical idiosyncrasies of The Naysayer still have a pointed grace. And as with that brisk walk home, you may not come across anything overwhelmingly different, but the trip can be quietly vivid.
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